Wednesday, May 31, 2017

"Buy American" Poems and Photography By David J. Thompson

David J. Thompson has become sort of a worldwide coorespondant for Zombie Logic Review. I never know where he's going to go next, but I know he's going to report back with great photos of street and folk art and awesome poetry.

Buy American photo by David J. Thompson

Shit Like This

My assistant manager says, This old guynamed Jake is coming over from shippingto work with you starting tomorrow, OK?I nodded and he continued, Just so you know,they wanted to fire him for coming backfrom lunch drunk, but he’s only a week awayfrom retiring, so they decided to make himour problem instead, and, don’t get too close,they say he smells like he shit himself.

He wasn’t far off about that. Jake smelled like an ash tray doused with sour milk left out in the sun, but he was friendly enough,and, keeping my distance, I showed himhow to put together the battery packs that the next guys down the line screwedonto the computer frames we were buildingbefore they pushed them down the assembly line.

Next morning he asked me what I was doing there,so I explained that I was just working temp,getting divorced and in-between real jobs.Let me warn you, Jake said, sitting back slowlyin his chair and lowering his voice. Before I startedhere forty years ago this spring, I was in the Navystationed in Japan for two years. I’ve never seenanything like those Japanese girls. Tiny little things,like dolls really, with perfect skin, and they will doanything you want. You ever been to a Japanese whore?I shook my head, gave him a little smile and said no.He shook his head, too, flipped his screwdriverup on the workbench, muttered, Like the kiddumbass I was, I left the Navy and spent my lifedoing shit like this.” I saw his whole body sag,and I began to turn to walk away. Hey, he called, I got a bottle of Jim Beam out in my truck.Come with me at lunch, OK? I looked around to see if anyone was listening, gave him a wink and a nod, hoped it would be plenty warm enoughto drink with the windows rolled all the way down.

"Danville" photograph by David J. Thompson

"Gracie's" photograph by David J. Thompson

Zelda

Worn out Friday night, weighed down with my laptop, a 6 pack, bag of groceries, and two movies from Netflix.I’m dying to get inside, flop on the couch and crackopen the first beer. I’m digging around for my key when the crazy old woman across the hall sticks her head out and says in her smoker’s voice, Hey, Mr. Teacher, I saw on the TV that there’s a new Gatsby movie out. You’re not going to go see it, are you? Oh, shit, I think, feel my laptop start to slip as my shoulder sags. I hesitate a moment,put my beer and the dvd’s down on floor, then slowly turn toward her,tilt my head to see her better through the barely open door,tell her that I wasn’t sure, just wanted to get inside for the night.

Well, don’t, she says as she pushes the door open a little wider, that Scott was such a terrible liar. Do you remember that partin the book when Daisy says she always waits for the longest dayof the year and then misses it? Well, Zelda would never do anything so stupid as that. Oh, really? I ask, still feeling in my pocket for my key. She and I were bridge partners that winter, hospital champions, even if Zelda did overbid all the time,she replied, her voice getting stronger. I found myself loweringmy laptop to the floor, moving to get a better look at her. The fire you know, she continued, came straight up the dumbwaiter from the kitchen right to her room. Poor Zelda never had a chance, the windows, of course, were all barred up. Now, I stood there staringat her, the short gray braids, the frayed collar of the the shabby housecoat she always wore. So sad, too, she went on, the insulin treatments were working,Zelda was gaining weight and looking forward to seeing Scottie’s new baby, but all they found, her voice hesitated, in her room was a ballet slipper on a pile of ashes. Suddenly she twisted her head a bit, put her hand to her chin and said, I think I have the other slipper here somewhere. Would you like to see it? Yes, please, I almost screamed, and she turnedand went back inside her apartment.

I sat down very slowly, my back against my apartment door,right leg stretched out, left knee up. I listened to her clunkingaround out of sight, then I reached into the plastic bag,brought out a 6-pack of Miller High life cans, pulled one from the ring and snapped it open. I took a long swallow,tilted my head back and decided to wait right there as if it were the longest day of the year, and I wasn’t goingto miss it for the world.

"Indiana" photograpgh by David J. Thompson

The Coolest Thing Ever

After a 12-pack of Busch Light,a couple bong hits, and two shotsof Jim Beam, I explained to my buddyJim next door that all we had to dowas switch out the voice boxes on his parrot and my border collieand we’d have a talking dog, for surethe coolest thing ever that we could takeon tv and make a fortune. So, we firedup the bong one more time, then spread clean sheets all overmy breakfast nook. We fooledthe animals into eating a mixtureof my ex-girlfriend’s Prozacand half a bottle each of Tylenol PM,found my flashlight and washedsome steak knives real good.

It’s been about a month nowand I can tell you that eventhe dry cleaner couldn’t getthe blood stains out of my sheets,and Jim is no longer speaking to me because his damn pet didn’t make it through the weekend even thoughI’ve sent my dog over many times to invite him on the Colbert shownext week with us and remind himhow he’s as much to blame as I am, how better off the parrot is now, finally out of his cage for good, flying free way up there in bird heaven.Buy American, buy Zombie Logic Press